How Soon is Now?
by MissMahjong
Summary: After months of thinking Sherlock is dead, John finds out that Sherlock is alive but needs his help. A dramatic adventure of blogging to restore truth and reuniting best friends turned lovers. Slightly established Johnlock at beginning and will be Johnlock as the story progresses with some smut later on. Sherlock/John, slash, yay. ON HIATUS! I may have lost my inspiration for this.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters, they all belong to their respective creators.

~ How Soon is Now?

-Prologue-

The study was dark except for the lamp near the leather chair Mycroft was currently sitting on. The elder Holmes brother was drinking occasionally from his rum glass while observing the figure standing by one of the tall windows, looking outside, silhouetted by the moonlight. The figure was tall and slender in stature, leaning against the wall with muted clothes, revealing no hints at his identity.

"I need to see him."

Taking a large swig of his drink and putting the glass down, Mycroft then stood up to approach the figure, his brother, the very living and yet currently moping Sherlock Holmes.

"We've been through this." The government Holmes stood at a comfortable distance behind Sherlock.

"I need to see him Mycroft. I-I need to hold him, talk to him, tell him I'm alright."

The gentle snowfall of outside, leaving the ground resembling powder sugar felt bitter sweet in Sherlock's mind. As serene as the scene was, he only wanted to view something like this with John.

"And risk everything we've done so far? No, I think not. It was bad enough to allow a barber in here to cut your hair."

"With that much information you had on him, he couldn't exactly resist." The detective tilted his right slightly to the right, still looking out.

"I have the highest position in government under the Queen, and I resort to blackmail to keep you safe." Mycroft shook his head

"Like that's anything new for you." Sherlock smirked.

Mycroft shifted his stance to lean his weight on his left leg.

"How far along was your relationship with him?"

"Very chaste, kissing, hand holding, hugs." Sherlock closed his eyes, remembering the purity of his preliminary relationship with his army doctor.

"Anything x-rated?"

"No, he was getting used to the idea of being with a man."

"Then let him move on."

The words repeated in Sherlock's mind like a terrible song, he looked over at Mycroft behind him, scandalized.

"M-Move on?! No! Never! He misses me…and I miss him."

"You know what I've said about caring and yet the amount of sentiment you have for this man is… is it worth it?"

The detective leveled his gaze at his brother.

"Yes I know, but John Watson is worth it. I need him."

Mycroft shook his head and turned to leave the room, turning off the lamp in the study, leaving Sherlock in near total darkness.

"Its still a bad idea." Mycroft mumbled.

**Author's Note:** I'm at it again, the temptation of making another chapter fic, I want this one to be more angsty, dramatic and just gets to your heart but we'll see. I also want to experiment around with this one with setting an overall tone, better descriptions and more conflict, fucking yay, experimentation, so please bear with me.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: These characters don't belong to me, they belong to their respective creators.

~ How Soon is Now?

The temptation to roll his eyes at his last patient of the day was immense, due to hearing the young man's acne problem that could lead to the potential ending of the world. His patient only reminded him of his school days, which he loathed entirely and was glad to be an adult. The teen was dressed in the latest of cool hip-hop fashion, trying too look like some heartthrob out of a teen girl's magazine.

"So, you see my problem Doc, I can't be seen with this volcano on my face, I've got an image to maintain."

The young man's demeanor rubbed John the wrong way, the doctor found him arrogant and nearly cringed when the teen called him Doc, John did not like being called Doc.

"So, you want a quick working ointment that'll get rid of that blemish in two hours for a date?" The dirty blond blinked bluntly

"Yes, finally someone who understands." The teen enthused.

"Well, Mr. Clayton, since this a small clinic, I'm afraid we don't carry a two hour miracle working ointment. What we do have is an antibacterial facial wash that works in 24 hours."

With hidden enjoyment, he watched the teen's face fall from previous joy, sitting back in his chair behind his desk.

"No, no, that won't work. I need something before my date tonight."

This time, he really did roll his eyes, which went unnoticed by the young man sitting opposite of him. John glared a bit at the teen, he wanted his patient to know he was getting him irritated.

"Is your image that important to your date?" The dirty blond dulled out.

"Yes, she's perfect. She's so perfect with perfect hair, makeup, body, voice." The young man sighed dreamily

"Perfect personality…" the doctor mumbled.

"That too!"

John observed the teen and thought of some advice for him.

"Then, maybe she'll understand if you could postpone your date until that so called volcano, goes away?"

"Oh no, no one puts off a date with Marion Drysdale. If I even suggest something like that, I'll never get another chance with her."

"She's that pretty?" John's voice dripped with sarcasm that still went unnoticed to the teen.

"Yes!"

"I guess the 24 hour face wash won't do."

"No shit Sherlock." the teen murmured, but John caught it and it lit a fuse.

"I'm sorry, what was that?" John sat up, giving his patient his full attention.

"What?"

"That thing you just said?" The doctor formed a thin line with his lips, just barely restraining fury.

"The 'no shit Sherlock' thing? It's just something everyone at school says, you know, after that Sherlock bloke killed himself for being a fake."

The lit fuse was mere milliseconds from exploding.

"Get out." John told the teen curtly.

"What?"

Boom.

Sarah was finishing up on setting a future appointment with a patient when she heard it.

"Get out!" That was John along with some muffled scuffling. The door to his office opened where she was shocked to see the doctor throw the young man out of his office by his shirt collar.

"Wait, what about my blemish?"

"I don't care, you pretentious little prick! Get Out!"

John was down right pissed and emphasized his rage by slamming the door, startling the small staff and two other patients.

Sarah quickly dismissed the young man, set up a cup of tea and entered the furious doctor's office. She found him doing push ups, counting each one of them under his breath, going up to 82 and getting up to sit back in his chair.

"I made you tea."

"Thank you." He took a drink while she sat down in the opposite chair.

"John, what's wrong? That's the third patient you've snapped at this month."

"That conceited twat insulted my bo-friend, best friend, calling him a fraud. He wasn't, isn't a fraud."

"Is that all? Is that what's really bothering you?"

"For the moment, it is."

"No, something's been building up, I can feel it, even your patients can feel it."

John gives her a look.

"Well, some of them. What's wrong, you can tell me."

He looked at her, seeing her genuine concern on her face and released a sigh.

"I can't stand this normalcy. The stasis of everyday ignorance, knowing that there are people who mock him and take him and his work for granted and people who…"

"John, I know you miss him, and that he was an incredible person but you can't let the frustration of losing him get to you while you're with a patient, its been seven months." She brought her arms on top of the desk to lean on them.

"Still feels like yesterday." He gazed into his tea sadly, studying the amber liquid.

"Have you tried to date anyone recently?"

John looked at Sarah.

"I can't, no one else appeals to me."

"Have you… got off with anyone?"

"No, it wouldn't be right."

"John, I'm your friend and as a caring friend, I feel that I have to get it into that stubborn head of yours that he's dead, Sherlock Holmes is dead."

John turned his head away, trying to hold back tears, blinking them away.

"Look, maybe you should go out and not so much date but with some friends. I'm actually going out tonight with some of my friends, you're welcome to join us. You might meet someone to befriend or bed tonight, either way it'll help you come to terms with Sherlock's death so you can move on."

John peered back at Sarah with a scandalized expression, wanting snap at her too, but he realized that she was only trying to help. He still felt offended, taking a deep breath in through his nose and releasing it out mouth, giving her a determined gaze.

"I know what you're saying and while that is true, a part of me still refuses to believe that Sherlock Holmes is dead, and I'm hanging on to that part."

John left the clinic, done with his shift and in cross mood, rounding the corner of the block only to see a severe car accident taking up the entire street. The police redirecting traffic and pedestrians, telling him to take the tube to get home. He was not in the mood to be compressed with other people in an underground metal can, but trying to hail a cab at the moment wasn't going to work, so he turned back. As he was walking, John noticed a male presence following him as he climbed down the stairs to the underground. The dirty blond took a small peek behind him, just incase he needed to keep an eye on this guy. The male wore a green jacket over a navy blue hooded jumper and jean trousers but he couldn't see his face with the hood obscuring it, the man was tall and John didn't want to be too obvious.

The doctor was waiting on the platform and subtly observed his surroundings and caught sight of a tall man with the green jacket, hunched over as he leaned against the wall, his hood still covering his face, waiting as well, as he was on his phone, texting or something. The man had a presence but it was muted to everyone except John, he hinted familiarity, but the doctor wasn't in the mood to guess, he just wanted to get home, not wanting to punch anyone but would if this tall-gangly punk of a bloke decided to mug him.

The first signs of the train came as a gush of wind followed by metal screeching and finally seeing the descending speed of the cars as they slowed and stopped. The car he would have to get on was nearly full and he dreaded the feeling of complete strangers, pushing and shoving to get on and off, today was not his day. The doors opened, letting people out and in, as John got on, maneuvered his way to another side of the car and stood by the doors there. The train started to move when he felt a person behind him, far to close for comfort and willed all of his patience to not tell them to piss off. The train jerked some on its path, making the person behind John, bump into him and he caught a glimpse of a green jacket, it was the same bloke that he felt follow him, in his personal space. The dirty blond swallowed some of his irritation and evened out his voice, controlling his temper.

"Sir, I realize that this is a crowded area but if you don't mind backing off!" The words were spoken loud enough to be heard by both John and the officially dubbed 'stalker', but not loud enough to draw attention.

"John." That voice, that smooth baritone voice that he never thought he would hear again, calling his name, stunned him. John's eyes were wide with shock and recognition but it was impossible.

"No…" he breathed out

"Yes, I'm alive John." remarked the person behind him with the far too familiar voice.

"I don't believe it." A very small part of him didn't, but his eyes began to water again as his ears knew to truth.

John then felt arms wrap around him, cream-colored hands and long elegant fingers interlocking to hold him against the body behind him. The dirty blond leaned against the male body; eyes closed as a stray tear escaped his left eye and opened his eyes again with a new light in them. The warmth, the smell, the embrace that he missed so much, he wanted sob in stupid happy relief but he could only grip at the hands that held him because his mind was fighting with his heart, whether or not to believe that this moment was actually happening. The hold was so familiar, he relished this moment and he wanted to see if it was really him, but as he started to turn, the embrace held the doctor in place.

"Don't turn around, I'm risking a lot as it is but I had to see you. John I have to be quick but first, I'm sorry for not letting you know sooner about my survival, second, I miss you and third I need your help."

Sherlock nuzzled the top of John's head affectionately and spoke directly into the dirty blonds left ear, making him shiver. The detective ached for this feeling of holding his doctor, so small and compact, he too, cherished this closeness.

"How?" John shuddered out

As much as Sherlock wanted to just stay with John, his stop was coming up as the train slowed down, making the tall brunette grit his teeth in bitterness.

"No time to explain, I'll contact you." He spoke quietly

"Sher…" John murmured

"It's good to see you, John." He whispered and placed a soft kiss behind the doctor's ear. John soon felt no presence behind him. He looked around the crowd and only spotted a blue hood over the head of people, exiting the train on the other side.

John was in a daze when he got out from the underground and stared walking the rest of the way home. The entire event of the temporary reunion was repeating over and over in his mind when one thing stood out. When Sherlock was speaking so closely in his ear, both the proximity and the voice made him shiver but he also felt the tickle sensation of hair. Sherlock must have some facial hair or some type beard although it wasn't that long, John thought.

Of course as John began to think about it, it's been seven months since the fall, seven months since he actually saw Sherlock fall to his death. Seven long months of trying and failing to come to terms with his death. Seven months of misery, grief, regret, and all together memories of being with Sherlock from friendship to their blossoming relationship and finally remembering the events that lead up to his death. When in the whole seven-month time span, Sherlock was alive. Sherlock is alive and didn't bother to tell him sooner. John went through hell and back for over half a year, thinking Sherlock was dead when in cold hard reality, Sherlock has been alive. These thoughts soon became a growing mass of irritation, with nearly visible puffs of smoke rising from him as his sour mood came back with a vengeance. The fact that Sherlock has been alive while John was grieving set him on fire with seething rage, so much so he almost kicked some rubbish bins when he caught him self mid kicking motion, stopped, took a deep breath and kept on walking home.

John was practically stomping home, just another block or two until he hit Bakerstreet when he noticed out of the corner of his eye a black car was following him slowly, he knew exactly who it was and ignored the car. The back seat window went down, revealing Anthea who was observing the dirty blond. John was just about to pass an alleyway when the annoyance of the following car set him off.

"What do you want?!"

"Get in."

"What? With you? No."

"C'mon, get in."

"I refuse." He tried to continue walking but saw that Anthea get out of the car, pointing a gun at him.

"Get in the car."

John wanted to protest but got in the vehicle with his arms raised in surrender, which added more fuel to his already fire of fury.

"Can I see your phone?" she asked when he was inside. With some mumbled swears he got out his phone and warily gave it to her.

It was quick, how Anthea grabbed the phone, threw it up in the air and shot it three times before she swiftly got in the car, as it began to drive off. John was at a loss of what to think, the fact that Anthea, always texting on the phone Anthea knows how to use a gun.

"Here, a new phone, which is an exact replica of your old one, right down to the engraving and scratch marks, however, this one is far more enhanced and secure."

He held the phone, amazed at the level of detail that went into making look exactly like his old one. John had a hunch of who held responsibility for his current abduction but he wanted confirmation.

"Was there a reason to destroy my old phone?"

"That one's been compromised and tomorrow, you're getting a new Internet service provider, that's been compromised too."

"Under whose orders?"

She smirks and starts to text on her phone.

"Isn't obvious?"

"Yeah, unfortunately it is." He tensed out, his foul mood coming back far more stronger then earlier.

It was night when he arrived; John stomped into the study after getting frustrated, lost, which resulted in further frustration in the mansion, where he found Mycroft seated behind a large mahogany desk. The desk held very basic essential, a lamp, some blank paper, a folded laptop and neatly placed pens but John placed him self on the other side of the desk aggressively, putting both hands on the desk as he tried to hover over Mycroft.

"Did you, did you know about this?!"

"About what, John?" Mycroft sat back, physically relaxed but his eyes were focused on the man before him, calculating.

"That-that he's alive?!"

"Yes, I knew." The elder Holmes admitted nonchalantly.

"And did it ever occur to you to tell me?!"

"No."

The doctors face was nearly red with fury, making a wringing of the neck motioned towards Mycroft before he dropped that for a pointing gesture.

"You! You!"

"Save it John, have a seat. We need to discuss some things." Mycroft turned a bit in his chair, still relaxed.

"Do we?!"

"Sit down."

John took a seat, but his body language was ready for action, to fight something or some one, from the way his right leg was moving quickly and how he sat forward in his chair. The dirty blond's body language resembled a cheetah ready to pounce on his prey, although Mycroft certainly felt like no ones prey.

"So, he finally made contact."

"If you want to call stalking me on the tube contact, then yes he did."

"I told him not to, however, since when does Sherlock Holmes ever listen to me."

"Never."

Mycroft glared at John, who glared right back.

"Did he tell you anything?" The dark ginger smiled

"Yeah, he did." John was curt.

"Well, what did he tell you?"

"He said he needs my help."

Mycroft sighed, fixing himself, placing both hands, fingers linked together on the desk, giving his full attention to John.

"It's true, we do need your help."

"We? I've agreed to help him, not you. I refuse to help you because you knew he was alive for the past seven months and didn't tell me, which happens to be a dick move and, oh!" John was gesticulating in subdued anger when a thought suddenly hit him, Mycroft quirked a brow.

"There's the family resemblance." He mumbled to him self.

The elder Holmes rolled his eyes and sighed.

"John."

"By the way, just out of curiosity, who else knows that he's alive? Hm?" Jonh mocked.

"John, calm down."

The landmine within John exploded, pumping him full of adrenaline. John was fast, surprising Mycroft when he was grabbed by the front of his suit and violently thrown on his desk, all items falling off of it, including the lamp. John's face was pure seething fury, the burning in his eyes glaring more than just daggers but a couple of bullets and a flamethrower at the dark ginger man.

"Don't tell me what to do! You know absolute shit about what I've been through! I've been a wreck since I saw him jump and saw his bleeding head on the pavement! Then! Oh and then! Months later, I find out that he's alive and no matter how happy and relieved I am, I'm also pissed at not only him but at you too! Keeping the fact that he lives, that he survived that fall, a secret from me! Tell me was it fun?! Giggling at my misery behind these walls?!" Spittle came out of John's mouth, some of it landing on Mycroft's face since they were nearly face-to-face; Mycroft cringing at the spittle.

"John!" the dark ginger shouted, catching his attention.

"If you're quite finished." Mycroft raised a brow, piercing his lips on a scowl.

"Yeah, I'm finished."

John let go of the man and sat back down, silently pleased to rough up the stuck up git and also surprised at how much adrenaline he used to lift the man onto the desk, he felt kind of tired and leaned back. The elder Holmes righted himself off the desk, picked of the lamp, placed it back on the desk and took his seat; leaning back some.

"Right, moving on. **We** need your help since there's so much we can do without risking what we've done so far."

"And what **have** you done so far?" John sneered.

"There were three assassins, hired and ready to kill you, DI Lestrade and dear Mrs. Hudson the day **he** jumped. We've tracked and captured two of them, one is still on the loose but we know of his whereabouts, so he shouldn't be a problem."

The learning of this information unsettled John as he thought about it, eyes down, mind absorbing the news with some flash backs to that day. It was a good small while before he spoke again, looking Mycroft in the eyes with calm vexed resign.

"So… how exactly do you need my help?"

Mycroft smirked, making John turn his head and scowl.

"We need you to start blogging again."

John turned back to stare at the man with clearly confused eyes.

"What?"

**Author's Note:** I bet you want to know just where am I going with this and to be honest I'm not entirely sure. I have some ideas but I'm not too confident about them, just know that I do want to continue with this fic, it's a challenge. Review if you want.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, they all belong to their respective creators.

~ How Soon Is Now?

John stood outside the police precinct, gathering up courage to do what he had to do. He argued internally on whether or not he could do this mission thing. The stress eventually got to him and he sat down on a bench near the precinct wall. John leaned back on the bench and thought about his conversation with Mycroft last night.

(Flashback)

"I don't find it necessary to repeat myself, you heard me."

John leaned forward, his expression still puzzled.

"You want me to blog? About what?!"

"About what you've been blogging about; Sherlock, of course."

"Ok, wait, just …hang on. How exactly am I suppose to blog about Sherlock when the rest of the world thinks he's dead?" he asked with a tilt of his head.

"So far, you've only blogged about a handful of his cases since you first met him, not the ones that he's done before then."

"So… you want me to blog about his past cases? What for?" the dirty blond shrugged.

"For the same reason you threw an adolescence out of your office. The world thinks Sherlock Holmes is a fraud when we both know the truth, his genius can't be faked. When Sherlock comes back into the world, he will need his credibility back, not enough to idolize him but enough to have him work on cases."

The expression on Mycroft's face was that of a teacher lecturing a child and it made John want to punch the man.

"Ok, I'm going to try and figure out what you just said. You, want me, to blog about Sherlock's past cases, in order to re-build his credibility as a consulting detective, so that when he comes back into 'the world', he can get back to work? Is that what you're saying?"

"Precisely."

"Ok, and that just leaves me with a few questions. One, you want me to establish his credibility under the pretense that he's 'dead', but when he comes back, wouldn't that contradict what I'm blogging about? I can blog all I want about how everything he did and said was true, convince the readers he wasn't fake when they think he's dead and suddenly, he pops up, alive and well. How are the readers supposed to handle that? That John Watson was lying or he knew Sherlock was alive all along or some other barmy conspiracy will no doubt emerge and ruin everything. Imagine the tabloids, oh the press will have a field day. How is all of **that** going to play out?"

"We'll get to that when it arrives, until then just blog about the cases."

"Which brings me to another question, how in the hell am I suppose to find out about Sherlock's past cases?"

Mycroft smirked a cake-eating grin, which both scared and amused John, he would have laugh if he weren't so irritated.

(End Flashback)

John looked up, letting his eyes roam the sky, internally thinking,

'This is crazy, this is mad, but it's for Sherlock. I can do this…yes, I can do this…I will do this, I have to do this.'

He made up his mind, getting up and striding into the police station, heading in the direction of the one person that can and will help him out.

The doctor knocked on the open office door belonging to Detective  
Inspector Greg Lestrade, getting the man's attention.

"Oh hey, long time no see John, come in, how are you?"

The dirty blond entered the office, shaking hands with Lestrade before sitting in an offered seat.

"Hi Greg, I've been well for the most part, you know." Lestrade leaned back in his chair behind his desk.

"Yeah, I hear you … you still live there, at 221 B?"

"Yeah, still living … there."

"Oh, good, yeah, nice place, the rent must be good."

"Yeah, it is, and I can't leave Mrs. Hudson there alone … so it's just us .. there, yeah."

An awkward silence went between them; both men not exactly sure how to continue talking, the small talk wasn't cutting it. They didn't interact as much as when Sherlock was around, so John decided to just get straight to the point of his visit.

"Look, Greg .. um, I need to see all of the cases Sherlock has worked on and helped you with."

"The cases, why?" Lestrade was amused.

"To blog about them."

"What?! Why?" The grey detective's expression went from amusement to startled.

"All I can tell you is that I have to blog about them."

"Good to see sense of humor hasn't diminished, nice one." He smiled

"I'm not joking." John had the most serious and stoic face on, it made the grin on Lestrade's face falter.

"You haven't blogged since … in-in months, why start again now?"

"Because."

"Because…?"

"It's something I have to do."

"Look, John, I can't just let you see all of those cases, there's been a change in policy, ever since you're incredible get away with Sherlock. The chief's been breathing down my arse ever since, he's also extra strict about the police reports and related reports."

John then pulled out a document from a manila envelope he had and held it up for Lestrade to view.

"Then it's a good thing I have this, here."

The doctor gave the document to the grey detective, enjoying the stunned expression on his face.

"This is real."

"I think the signature proves itself."

"A government order to release to you all of the cases Sherlock Holmes has been involved with, nicely done John."

The doctor smirked.

"You know that there are certain and very strict protocols to go through, mostly the approval signature of the chief superintendent."

"Yeah."

"The same chief superintendent that you punched."

"Yeah, I know."

Lestrade eyed John, trying to find either the real reason behind the order or trying to find a crack in John's demeanor, but found nothing.

"Alright, I'll gather the according papers and call the chief for clearance."

"I only hope there's no trouble."

The chief superintendent was furious, face red with seething anger at the call he received from DI Lestrade's office, as he walked to said office. He rounded on the office door and entered, not noticing John.

"What's the meaning of this?! Clearance on more than 50 cases?! Lestrade, what the hell is going on!?"

"Yes Sir, but they're cold cases."

"Yeah?! And who is inquiring about these cold cases?!"

John coughed, bringing the chief's attention towards him.

"You!"

"Yes."

"You're the one inquiring about the cold cases?"

"Yeah, I am."

"I refuse to grant clearance."

"Well, Sir, that's … not entirely up to you."

Lestrade handed the official document over to the chief, said man was reading it over, getting even more red in the face, if possible. He glared at John while the dirty blond smirked nonchalantly, secretly getting a kick out of the chief's reactions.

"May I **inquire** as to why you want all those cases?"

"You may but I can't tell you."

"Then I refuse to grant clearance, no matter who signed this paper until I know what the cases are used for!"

"As I told DI Lestrade, all I can say is that I'm going to blog about it, other than that, I'm under this."

John pulled out two other documents, handing them to Lestrade.

"He made you sign a gag order?"

Lestrade felt his phone vibrate and answered his phone, instantly recognizing the number.

"The other one is for the both of you to sign."

"No, I won't do it."

"Chief, it's for you."

"Who is it?!" he snapped.

"Mycroft Holmes."

John was getting quite the luxury of seeing all the expressions on the chief superintendents face as he spoke with Mycroft Holmes. The chief got off the phone, handing it back to Lestrade, still red in the face and wanting to rebel against whatever the elder Holmes told him but he knew, he knew and he hated that he couldn't refuse the orders; it burned him.

The chief glared at John,

"Are these the only documents I have to sign?" the man grounded out

"No, I've got a few more here."

John pulled out some more documents, casually. The chief had his lips set in a thin line, accepting the documents, signing and handing them over for Lestrade to sign.

"Donovan!" The burly chief barked out.

She came in quickly, with the expression of puzzled alarm and surprise when she saw John's face.

"Yes Sir?"

"Make four copies of these and send a copy down to records."

"Sir, these are to release information to him?"

"Yes, they are."

"But Sir, we can't, how did he-?!"

"Dammit Donovan, just make the bloody copies and give one to records, now leave!"

John secretly enjoyed the scandalized look on Donavan's face and smiled when she threw him a nasty glare.

After all of that business at the precinct and some extras errands, John arrived at the flat, receiving news from Mrs. Hudson that some men stopped. He remembered what Anthea said the night before, about the change in his land-line and internet connection, obviously she wasn't joking. There on the desk were a couple of papers, mostly the technical details concerning his land-line and wifi setup. He skimmed through the papers, and put them back. John got comfortable, taking off his coat and undoing the few top buttons of his shirt, putting the kettle on for tea. To be honest, John had no idea where this whole blogging thing was going and why he agreed on it, the past hours still reeling in his mind, Sherlock is alive, he believed that now, he knew that now, no matter how unbelievable it was. Sherlock is alive, out there doing God knows what but he, Sherlock, needed the doctor's help, and for the moment that's what John was happy with, to help that incredible, death-defying man. Although a quarter of him self was still bitter at being kept in the dark for so long but that was slowly diminishing, very slowly.

The kettle whistled, signaling the dirty blond to make his tea and soon he got comfortable in his chair, relaxing and enjoying his drink when he felt a vibration in his pocket. It was a text, from Sherlock, which surprised the doctor.

'What is it that you will break even though you name it?'-SH

'Silence.'-JW

John knew the answer to that, Mycroft also informed him that they, Sherlock and John, would start their texting with riddles, to recognize each other.

'John.'- SH

'Sherlock.'-JW

'Are you at the flat?'-SH

'Yeah, just got home.'-JW

'Did you get clearance on those cold cases?'-SH

The doctor smirked, remembering the earlier events.

'Yes, I did. They're bringing them to the flat in two days.'-JW

'Excellent.'-SH

'The chief superintendent recognized me too, he didn't want to release them.'-JW

'No doubt a call from Mycroft changed his mind.'-SH

'How did you- um, never mind. How are you?'-JW

John furrowed his eyebrows, confused but then thought against his idea.

'Ugh, bored but physically well, more or less.'-SH

'What's that mean?'-JW

'Without you reminding me to eat, I often for go meals; you know how I am.'-SH

'Yeah I know, do you at least remember to eat once in a while?'-JW

'Obviously or we wouldn't be having this conversation right now.'-SH

'…'-JW

'What?'-SH

John could vision the confusion on Sherlock's face, the man was still the same in the aspect of bad timing for certain topics of conversation.

'It's too soon for death jokes Sherlock.'-JW

'Oh, my apologies.'-SH

'That's better.'-JW

'John?'-SH

'Hm?'-JW

'There's something you should know, those case files are nothing without my notes.'-SH

This brought some confusion to the dirty blond.

'Notes? What notes? I've never seen you take notes.'-JW

'I didn't take as much notes when with you around, you were doing that scrapbooking.'-SH

The doctor made a face of a frustrated duck; it wasn't a scrapbook.

'I'll let that go for now, where can I find these notes? Are they in your room?'-JW

'It's your room now, isn't it? Since you've been sleeping in there and yes, they are.'-SH

Although the detective continued to amaze John in knowing that fact, the doctor felt some guilt at that remark.

'Alright, I'll look for them and… it's not like a moved in there, all of your clothes and things are still there, I only sleep in your bed.'-JW

'Oh John, I miss you.'-SH

Well, that was random, pleasant but random.

'I miss you too… a lot.'-JW

'I have a question and feel free to be absolutely blunt about it.'-SH

John gave his phone a skeptical look, wondering where Sherlock was going with this.

'?'-JW

'Can we start where we left off?'-SH

The dirty blond was not expecting that, it kind of surprised him but it was a significant question. Could they pick up where they left off? Granted, the last time before the fall, John remembered being angry with the man until he realized what Sherlock did to distract him. The doctor felt torn, his brain going one way and his heart going another.

'I want to but I'm not to sure how that would work out, with you in hiding and all.'-JW

'That's nothing to fret about, we're texting now and when I can, we can try Skype.'-SH

'When you can? What does that mean?'-JW

'Well, I'm abroad at the moment waiting for my flight, with a borrowed laptop.'-SH

'Oh, huh, good to know that you can travel when ever you like.'-JW

'In disguise John? Don't be ridiculous.'-SH

'Sorry for being ridiculous.'-JW

'I know, but that's part of your charm. So, what do you say?'-SH

'Yeah, I'd like that but you owe me so much.'-JW

'I'll ponder the many ways to make it up to you.'-SH

'I'm not kidding Sherlock, you owe me so much for keeping me in the dark, I was miserable, still kind of am since you're not here with me.'-JW

'I know John, and I'll do my damn best to make it up to you… if it helps, I was suffering too. Although not the same way but I felt horrid for lying to you this long and being away from you, I couldn't take it anymore, I needed to see you and tell you I'm alright.'-SH

John read the text, feeling his heart constrict with some sympathy but smiled softy.

'I'm glad you did.'-JW

'John, another thing before I have to go, my flight's boarding.'-SH

'What's that?'-JW

'The notes are written in a code, you need to decipher it and as much as I want to tell you the code, I know you can appreciate a good challenge.'-SH

And enter the frustrated duck face along with questioning eyebrows, a code to decipher Sherlock's notes?

'What?'-JW

'I'll text you soon.'-SH

'Yeah, I'll be waiting.'-JW

**Author's Note:** I'm sorry for how long it took me to write this damn chapter, that writer's block was a bitch, but here you go and review if you want.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters, they all belong to their respective creators.

~ How Soon is Now?

It was the next day, in the morning when John was looking through Sherlock's possessions to find the notes, not exactly sure if he was looking for one notebook or several papers. The detective's closet was, well, right how he left it partially organized and the rest a mess. It reminded him of the time he attempted to pack up all of Sherlock's stuff, oh that was a dark day for him.

(Flashback)

It was two months after that fatal event the doctor stepped into the room, belonging to the now deceased Sherlock Holmes; boxes ready to be folded, taped, filled and taped shut to store and give away the detective's belongings. John turned on the alarm radio in the room, tuning the stations until he found a suitable station, playing some kind of indie pop song. The dirty blond settled himself on the floor in front of the open closet, ready to clean and organize the mess within. John needed to do this, he gathered strength to tackle this task from the previous days, knowing that putting away all of Sherlock's stuff would bring closure to his mind and heart; he had the strength to do this, he was strong. He built the box, securing the bottom with tape and began taking the clothes, folding them and putting them away. The radio having just announced a throw back to the days when boys bands ruled before it began to play a catchy pop tune.

John brushed it off as background music, something to fill the silence of the room and thought 'stupid song' with a small grin. It wasn't until part of the lyrics hit his ears that he started paying attention to the music, unknowingly slowing down his folding. The song brought back memories, unpleasant memories of Sherlock's last conversation with him and his jump.

"I'm a fake…"

"Sherlock…"

"I did it to impress you… Nobody could be that clever…"

"You could…"

"Goodbye John…"

"No, don't… No, Sherlock!..."

It also brought back all the good times they shared, their friendship and budding relationship.

"John?"

"This… us, won't be easy… but I do want us to happen…"

"Oh I could get used to this, sharing my coat with you…"

"Shut up, I'm cold…"

"Kiss me, or does it intimidate you?..."

"No… it doesn't…"

John was so caught up in his memories with the music sounding so far away, he didn't notice he was holding Sherlock's scarf in his hands until he felt the material. The unconscious running of tears blurred his vision as he recognized what he held in his hands, gasping when he saw it, only to sob into the soft blue material, loudly and somewhat violently. The memories and tears overwhelming him that his body was lying down on the floor sideways; the smell of the scarf, a combination of Sherlock's scent and the copper tinge of blood residue even though the blood was gone. He thought he was strong enough to handle the packing up of Sherlock's belonging but he was so wrong, he wasn't ready to let go. John wanted Sherlock back, his Sherlock, thinking about the potential they had as a blossoming couple and what they could've had. So there he lay, sobbing loudly into Sherlock's blue scarf with the ironic catchy pop song in the background, eventually crying him self to sleep on Sherlock's floor.

(End Flashback)

Just thinking back made him a little sad but he brushed it off, Sherlock is alive. After a few seconds of moving loose clothing from the floor, John found boxes at the back of Sherlock's closet, nine in total, stacked in three's and when he tried to lift one, he felt how heavy they were. Of course, John thought, Sherlock wouldn't make this easy, but the man wasn't the definition of easy. With some muscle preparation and a huff, he managed to get one of the heavy boxes on to the floor and opened it. Inside were books, old texts books from Sherlock's day at Uni, in which John closed the box, pushed it aside and opened another one. It was the six box that john opened when he finally found the notebooks and all the boxes after, that contain even more notes. John opened one of the notebooks, a simple little black notebook, with aging paper and notes written in Sherlock's hand writing. Something was different about these notes, John observed as he tried to read it and figured it out.

"Of course, leave it to Sherlock to write it in French." The dirty blond mumbled. John gathered up the note books and piled on the desk, ready to start deciphering the language from French to English, but he made some tea before he began, it was going to be a long day.

The doctor didn't finish until the early evening, only taking a break to get some snacks and a lunch, but he was determined to translate all the notebooks and he did, growing tired of all the French. It turns out the French was only numbers, Sherlock had written numbers in French, but there was a distinct pattern, John knew that much but he couldn't place it and decided to call it quits for that day. That's when John got a text.

'At night they come without being fetched, by day they are lost without being stolen, what are they?' -SH

'The Stars.' -JW

'John.' -SH

'Sherlock.' -JW

'It's good to text you again.' -SH

'It's good to have you text me again.' –JW

John smiled, reclining on the sofa, getting comfortable.

'What are you doing?' -SH

'Just finished with your notes.' -JW

'Really?' -SH

'Why French?' -JW

'It was easy at the time.' -SH

'They're numbers Sherlock.' -JW

'So you've only half cracked the code, I wish you luck with the rest.' -SH

John glared at the text.

'Sod.' –JW

'Do you have time?' –SH

'For?' –JW

"I've some hours to burn and I thought that we could go on a date.' –SH

'A date?! But how?' –JW

'Through the phone, texting.' –SH

John wasn't entirely sure how that would work but decided he wasn't going to care about small technicalities and went with it.

'Ok, yeah, sure, I've got time.' –JW

'Excellent! Now go get your self some take out and a glass of Merlot and we'll have a lovely night.' –SH

'Is that what you're doing?' –JW

'It's something I will do.' -SH

That's how John spent the rest of his evening, texting Sherlock into the late night hours until the detective had to go and bid John a good night. Even through long distance, the doctor felt himself falling for the brunette and was glad that Sherlock's alive but still felt the little bit of worry that this was still too good to be true.

Sherlock was right about the case files, when John received them in the mid morning, the reports were near shit with out Sherlock's notes. And for the next few days, when he had some free time between work and home, John tried to decipher the number part of the code, trying to apply some math into it, thinking addition, subtraction, multiplication or division would work but it didn't.

It was one afternoon, the dirty blonde sat on a park bench, just off from clinic duty and pulled out one of the notebooks to work on, thinking the fresh air might help him solve it. Of course, when a group of teens sat a small distance away, playing their music loud, it irritated John until he heard one of the songs they were playing, something about a 212. That's when it hit him, John's mind went through a subconscious process of connecting the numbers to letters, turning 212 into BAB and the light bulb lit up. Quickly, John went through Sherlock's notes, seeing the pattern and deciphering it, is was so damn simple, he became irate at himself for not seeing it sooner, the numbers only went up to 26, so of course it was the alphabet in number form. Sherlock's first message in the code was 9 8-1-20-5 1-14-4-5-18-19-15-14 for 'I hate Anderson', which was a very Sherlock remark. When John got home, he deciphered all of the notes, late into the night, his head on a mission to get it done and then start the process of going through them and comparing them to the cold case reports. Sherlock didn't text him until three days later.

**Author's Note: **I just wanted to get this chapter out, I'm sorry that it took forever and I just got frustrated with it, I, argh! Yeah, you get the picture, review if you want.


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